


天命

by drivingsideways



Category: Serenade of Peaceful Joy (TV), 孤城闭 | Held in the Lonely Castle (TV)
Genre: Character Study, F/F, Gen, Historical Inaccuracy, Sort Of, author motto: fuck the canon, episode coda, spoilers upto episode 7, tbh this ended up going in directions I was unprepared for, where canon is historical accuracy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-28
Updated: 2020-04-28
Packaged: 2021-03-02 01:02:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,391
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23896516
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/drivingsideways/pseuds/drivingsideways
Summary: Empress Dowager Liu pays a visit.
Relationships: Empress Dowager Liu/Consort Li
Comments: 3
Kudos: 5





	天命

**Author's Note:**

> \- The title means "Mandate of Heaven", which as you may know, was the divine right to rule, granted to the Chinese Emperor. 
> 
> \- As per the tags, historical accuracy wasn't too much of a consideration when I wrote this fic. I am basing this fic mostly on the information and characterization available in the drama and a lot of it exists only in my head; that said, some attempt has been made to reference historical facts as well. 
> 
> \- Empress Dowager Liu thinks of her royal husband as "Yuanxiu" aka Zhao Yuanxiu in this fic; that was a deliberate choice on my part, because that was what she knew him as before he changed his name to Zhao Heng. 
> 
> -Story of Dowager Empress Liu and Consort Li is only historically accurate to the point that Consort Li was originally her maid, and that Dowager Empress Liu was given Consort Li's son as her own.
> 
> \- Titles/ranks: I've used the Chinese titles where I could find them/remember them, but other characters have been given equivalent English-language titles. Sorry about that inconsistency. 
> 
> -In the fic, Empress Dowager Liu uses fairly crude and graphic language, which is not how she-or any other character!- speak in the drama. But I've kept it in for purposes of this fic, because I feel like her inner voice is probably like that- more blunt and not "pretty"- she did not grow up in an aristocratic family, she had a hard life, and from all accounts, in the drama as well, she pretty much showed contempt for the more scholarly pretensions of the Court. Of course some of this is going to be strange to read because I'm using *modern * language that is crude, and in English at that, so it's not going to be the equivalent of cursing in classical Mandarin for instance. 
> 
> \- This story takes place after Empress Dowager Liu is told that Consort Li is in a coma and dying. The "major character death" in the tags is Consort Li's.

_Not enough candles._

That’s her first thought as she crosses the threshold.

Eunuch Chen bows low in greeting and does not meet her eyes even after rising.

“Why are there so few candles?” she snaps. “This place is freezing!”

“We did not know _huang taihou_ would be gracing us with her presence today” he replies, nervously, still not meeting her eyes.

“Has the allowance to this palace been so insufficient that you cannot maintain it adequately?”

He falls to his knees.

“May _huang taihou_ punish me if she finds me negligent!” he murmurs, “I had reported to Superintendent Ren that we needed some extra funds these last few months because of Li c _henfei_ ’s illness. But he said there was no extra money because The Emperor had asked for extra frugality in palace household expenditure, and that _huang taihou_ also followed the same!”

And Jichen had concealed it from her, _the fool_.

And while it was true that she had never done anything to make Li _shunrong’s_ time here more _comfortable,_ it wasn’t like she had descended to petty cruelty either, no matter what Zhao Zhen thought.

And now with Zhao Zhen _already_ in a snit about the concealment of the truth of his parentage and the treatment of his _mother_ , she had to be even more careful.

No, she would have to reprimand Ren Shouzhong for it…later.

For now, she says curtly, “Call Superintendent Ren inside.”

When he comes in, she says, “Eunuch Chen, you will provide a list to Superintendent Ren of the items you need, and he will see that it delivered immediately.”

Superintendent Ren catches her eye, and she glares.

“ _Now_.”

“Yes, of course, _at once, huang taihou_ ” he says, and they both bow out together.

There’s a scared looking maid standing by.

“Take me to her” she barks, and the maid scurries ahead, parting the curtains that lead to the inner chambers.

 _This_ room is thankfully warmer, and better lit, though of course, those who wished to slander would not take _that_ into account.

She should have been more careful.

In the flickering lamplight, she looks as though she might be just having a particularly restful sleep.

Her thin face, though pale, seems unmarked by any pain, almost preternaturally still; it’s also strangely youthful under the crown of her prematurely-gray hair.

For moment, she’s worried that Li _chenfei_ is already dead; the thought weakens her knees- _unexpected_ \- and she sinks down onto the seat that’s been hurriedly brought in for her.

She reaches out to take one pale hand in hers.

Cold to the touch, her fingers long and elegant, and soft too.

They had always been like that, she remembers, a fact that had surprised and pleased her at first, when she was the one who would scrub her back, and later, rub soothing, fragrant oils on her body.

Later- after Zhao Yuanxiu had taken her into his bed, without so much as a _by your leave_ \- it had just been one more bitter piece of knowledge to swallow, along with the rest of her complaints.

In her mind’s eye, she can see it as though it were last night.

Lanhui had been getting her ready for bed; combing her hair out, occasionally running those deft fingers through them to untangle knots.

Ren Shouzhong had come in, eyes downcast.

“ _Guanjia_ ” he had begun, and then swallowed, as though something was stuck in his throat. “ _Guanjia_ has asked for Palacewoman Li to serve him in bed tonight.”

He’d said it in a rush, in a low voice, the last word almost eaten up.

The silence that had followed had been shattered by the sound of a jade comb falling to the floor.

When she turned around, Lanhui was already on her knees, her hands trembling as she picked up the remnants of the comb: two pieces, neatly broken, hardly a jagged edge to be seen.

“Consort Liu” she whispered, her eyes wide and dark, beginning to swim in tears.

_And she’d thought she’d been so careful, she’d thought he would never notice Lanhui, why would he, she was so quiet, so self-effacing, so practiced in making herself invisible._

_It had taken her months to notice Lanhui, almost a year after she’d been brought into her palace, one of the army of servants there. That Lanhui, a quiet and nervous seventeen year old then, had been assigned to her service had been a matter of luck._

_She’d been expecting Yuanxiu to take another woman for some months now- he did not visit her bed as often, and she knew the others in the harem had not had many visits or demands either. It had not caused her any anxiety, that knowledge. Unlike the other women in his harem, she knew her own worth, and she knew him, and what made him tick. The troubles at Court, the bout of illness six months ago- he would need some relief, something that rejuvenated him._

_So what if he didn’t want to see her, with the lines slowly creeping around her eyes, with her breasts losing their taut fullness a little, her skin a little less firm, despite all the oils and baths?_

_She had paid her dues, sucked his cock more than enough for one lifetime, and after all these years if he wanted to bury that average cock of his in the tighter cunt of some fourteen-year-old- frankly, she had been relieved to be left- to her own devices and pleasures._

But _this_ -

Frozen, she’d stared down at Lanhui’s scared face.

Though she would not dare voice it, the pleading in her eyes had been devastating.

But what had been there to do?

He was the Emperor, the Son of Heaven, set by the will of the gods to rule the Great Song.

They had been merely women.

There’s a pulse- faint, it was true, but there.

Thank the heavens, and the ancestors.

The last thing she needed was accusations of murder.

As though she would resort to anything so _crude_.

Besides, what need had she to do _that_ when Li _shunrong_ had already been living a half-life in this tomb.

Zhao Zhen could sulk for the next year, if he was so minded to, but even _he_ could not overturn his father’s will.

 _He_ had been the one to condemn his beloved Li _shunrong_ to this prison, to accompany him in death; probably he had justified it to himself in the name of the greater good of the dynasty.

Of course, some of it had been Li _shunrong’s_ fault. If she hadn’t been so guileless, so unable to defend herself and her child—

Nobody would believe it now, of course, but the taking of the child had not been _her_ idea.

But Lanhui had known— _must_ have known, _surely_ —

“You did know, didn’t you?” she says aloud to the sleeping woman.

There’s a noise in the room- a startled sound, quickly hushed.

She’d forgotten the maids.

“Leave us now” she says, louder, firmly.

They leave quickly, and she waits until they’re out of earshot.

She hadn’t known, along the way, why it was she was coming.

What use could it be- Lanhui had been lost to her on _that_ night, _this_ parting was hardly more final.

And whatever it is that could have been said between them once- well, Lanhui was well beyond the sound of her voice now.

Nevertheless….

“It wasn’t my idea” she finds herself saying. “I didn’t ask for him to give me your son.”

But Yuanxiu had made his calculations; he had known he was unlikely to see his son into adulthood, he had known that there was only one way he could preserve his legacy, to prevent Great Song from splintering- give his son in trust to _her._ He had her measure well enough; had known that she was more than capable of dealing with those pettifogging men in his Court with their unctuous, false piety and their spines bent like reeds in the water. He had known that whatever they threw at her, she would withstand it.

Lanhui doesn’t respond, not even a crease of her brow.

“And once I had him…” she pauses.

After a beat, she says, “I had to raise an Emperor, that was my job.”

More silence.

“I think I’ve succeeded, mostly- certainly the vast majority of the Court and the people are more pleased with _him_ than me.”

She snorts, turns Lanhui hand in hers, traces the heart-line of the open palm, as she had been used to do, once.

“He’s found out- but you know that, already. I suppose I should be grateful to you that you had the sense not to lose your mind entirely and admit him to your presence.”

She swallows.

“I know it must have been hard.”

It’s so quiet here this night, even the cicadas are silent.

She watches a candle gutter.

“He tries to be good” she offers, “even when it’s foolish. He must have got that from you.”

She chuckles softly. “He certainly didn’t get it from _me_.”

She exhales heavily.

“He’s more like his father than he knows too- that same tendency to rebel- or rather, to consider certain unthinking and mostly ill-considered acts as something profoundly rebellious! You know, Yuanxiu, he kept me as his woman all those years- in the beginning I ascribed that to the power of my beauty and talent- it was only after he brought me into the palace, and several years after, that I realized that my primary appeal had lain in being forbidden fruit. Once I was his entirely- entirely in his _power-_ there was no longer much interest.”

Her lips twist, remembering.

“I had to find ways then, to remind him why I was useful.”

She glances at her the sleeping face again.

“So, I suppose, really, perhaps, it _was_ my fault that you had your child taken away. If he hadn’t known I could safeguard his heir….and _you_ wouldn’t have been able to, you _know_ that.”

It sounds plaintive- she shuts her mouth with a snap.

She’s finds, to her surprise, that she’s trembling.

It takes her a few more minutes to get her voice in control.

“Well, it was done. Your son- he will be a good emperor, when he grows out of his immaturity. So you can go to your death knowing that.”

It’s too much.

She stands up abruptly, Lanhui’s hand still in hers.

She places it back on the bed, and walks to the window, opens it and leans out, lets the still autumn night cool her cheeks.

The stars are hidden, as is the moon.

She turns around.

“For these twenty-two years, he has feared me, and obeyed me, and resented me—especially in these last few years—and now that he _knows_ – _now_ he thinks he has proof, proof that I never loved him, never _could_ have loved him as a mother loves a son- and that- that frees him from any guilt about not _loving_ me, or owing me any filial piety!”

She takes a deep breath.

 _“Now_ , his thoughts, his devotion, his regrets and remonstrances, his _filial piety_ \- they are all for _you_ —even though _you_ never held him through his fevers, and you never held his hand to help him write his first words, and _you_ never stayed awake all night, planning, plotting, doing what needed to be done— _leading this fucking empire that they think I have no right to just because what’s between my legs isn’t a prick….!!”_

She finds that she’s shouting, by the end of it, suddenly, incandescently _furious._

“My entire _life_ ” she says, quieter, her chest heaving, “sucking the cock of The Great Song, in one way or another, and for all I know, after I’m put in the ground, the man I raised, the man I _saved_ this Empire for, will let my memory perish, will raise _you_ up instead.”

She crosses over to the bed quickly, stares down at the undisturbed face.

“Would that be justice enough for you?” she sneers, her voice brittle in the quiet, “Would _that_ slake your resentment toward me?”

Silence.

“Damn you” she whispers, all the fight gone out of her, suddenly, leaving her exhausted, wrung out like a robe that’s had all the dirt and dust beaten out of it. “Damn you. _Answer_ _me_.”

She sinks down onto the seat once more.

It takes her a few moments to realize that her cheeks are wet.

She has not been in the habit of indulging in tears; not unless they served a purpose.

But now, they flow without her consent even, and she cannot find it in herself to check them.

“Hui’er”, she whispers, “ _talk_ to me.”

Still, the silence.

She takes Hui’er’s hand in hers, presses it to her wet cheek.

She cries until there are no more tears, until her eyes burn.

Then she pats her cheeks dry, straightens her shoulders, sets Hui’er’s hand back on the bed.

“At the next presentation ceremony” she says, quietly, “I will wear the Imperial Robe.”

She’s halfway across the room before she hears a sound- and the only reason she hears it is because it’s so quiet.

She whirls around.

Hui’er’s face is turned toward her, her eyes wide open, lips parted, though no sound comes through.

She flies across the room, lands on her knees at her bedside, grasping for her hands.

Weak fingers close over hers.

For all that she had raged a few minutes ago, now she finds herself utterly bereft of words.

“You came.”

It’s a breath, a whisper.

She nods, trembling.

She brings Hui’er’s hand to her lips, kisses the knuckles.

Hui’er smiles, and _oh_ it’s as though the vast chasm of the years between has entirely vanished.

She leans in, presses her lips to Hui’er’s once, soft, and then withdraws -a few inches only, just so she can see her face.

She can feel Hui’er’s trembling breath on her cheek.

“The robe” Hui’er whispers, “wear it when we meet again.”

She nods, the tears running down her cheek and onto Hui’er’s own.

She swipes at them roughly with one hand, the other still entwined with Hui’er’s.

She squeezes Hui’er’s fingers, _stay, stay, stay,_ she begs silently, but Hui’er slips through her fingers once again.

She _will_ wear the robe.


End file.
